


Bravado

by rizahawkaye



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Fun, Humor, Love, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizahawkaye/pseuds/rizahawkaye
Summary: This is a collection of prompts I answer on Tumblr. Some are RoyAi, some are EdWin; most are SFW, some are not. I've compiled this mostly for my own benefit (to keep track of my writing progress) but bc I'm sharing it here I'll put warnings before each installment if the content is anything but Rated T for Teen. (I'll also updated tags as I go.)





	1. Sharpie Mustache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Riza always wondered how the Colonel managed to grow his mustache seemingly overnight... until she found him drawing it on one morning in sharpie

In hindsight, Riza should’ve known. Frequent trips to the bathroom generally hinted at…bladder infections? Pregnancies? IBS? All of which she’d asked the colonel about in private, awkward silence and flustered faces filling the space between his denials. It was then that she noticed the tufts (or, rather, the suspiciously even dark lines under his nose and above his lip) of “hair.” The fluorescent lights of the bathroom she had followed him into illuminated the thin caterpillar of fuzz like an angel might present a bright, warm sign that said, “Not today, friend! Hell’s THAT way!”

When the musty smell of old urine and bleach gave way to ( _Is that a Sharpie?_ ) other uneasy scents, Riza had plugged her nose and left the colonel to his business.

Two days later, the caterpillar blossomed into a butterfly. Havoc tried to peer down at it, getting closer and closer over Roy’s desk and into his face until the colonel whipped his hand over his mouth and claimed he was sick. “No one gets near my face,” he’d said, all bravado. Though his voice came up muffled through his fingers. “That’s an order.”

Riza quickly grew tired of the colonel’s new morning, afternoon, and evening bathroom routines. If he didn’t have an infection or irritable bowels, then what was he doing? And why did it seem like his lip grew a bit darker every time he left the office? _How is he growing that abomination so fast?_ She took to her desk, which had been meticulously prepared for a case such as this, and flipped a tiny switch on the inside of her deepest drawer. The satisfying click signaled the locking mechanism had been disabled, and so she gently (oh so gently) plucked a single, gold-studded razor from under a laminate lining. She stood, and the atmosphere of the room shifted. Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Fuery saluted her, and she saluted them back, an uncertain sweat trickling over her brow. She has a job to do, but can she do it?

She found the colonel in the bathroom farthest away from the office. He was bent forward over a sink, studying his facial hair in a murky mirror. Riza swallowed hard, let the door slam shut behind her, and said, “It’s time, Colonel. You’re scaring the men. Now lather your face.” The colonel went rigid. _There’s that Sharpie smell again._

“No,” he said. “It might smear if I do that.”

“Smear, Sir?” And then she noticed it. How did she not notice it days ago? That intoxicating Sharpie, perched delicately in his dominant hand. He held it as carefully as one might hold a torch, or a jar containing the ashes of their beloved mother. Her eyes settled on it as his flitted to her embarrassingly extravagant razor.

Whoever moved first was the winner, and Riza always moved first.

She managed to whack the Sharpie out of his hand before he could reach for her, and in a few swift movements she had his back craning around the curve of the sink and the water flushing over his face. She kept her forearm pressed firmly over his chest while she threatened to scrape the stained skin off with the razor in her free hand. (She wouldn’t, of course, but the promise that she could was enough to get the colonel to wipe the fake hair off himself.) Roy emerged from the short scuffle with his lieutenant a little red-face, damp, and…black-lipped? He was right about the smearing. The dark ink coated his lips and chin where he’d feverishly tried to rub it off. It looked like someone had doused a fire on his face.

“What have we learned?” Riza probed, sliding her razor into her pocket like it was a gun she needed to holster.

“To use something washable next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept. 26th, 2017


	2. Blowing Chunks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: RoyAi pregnancy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never written anything about Riza being pregnant and so this was sort of challenging for me. (‘: In the end I decided write something completely self-indulgent. I’m a sucker for Roy and Riza just……touching lmao. So enjoy the uuuuhhhhhhh sickeningly sweet fluff.

Riza fought the nausea back like it was an intrusive thought. If she could pretend it wasn’t there, maybe it would go away. But pushing it out of her mind only made her fixate on it more. The young boy nestled into her lap didn’t make anything easier. Every time he shifted to point at the Führer, or to turn to a friend, he ground his spine against her swelling belly and she had to hiss the pain out under her breath.

Roy had insisted that she stay home instead of joining him out in the heat of Ishval. She almost wished that she had taken him up on the offer. A thick film of sweat was forming over her brow, and the back of her throat tasted like fermenting vomit. She needed water, or an ice bath. But she’d never missed the opening of one of the Ishvalan schools before. As Roy’s adjutant, she’d seen three. This was her first as his wife. Morning sickness or not, she felt she must be at least seemingly infallible. Amestris had put a great amount of care in assimilating Ishvalan schools into their education system so that they may keep their religious educators and studies while also receiving government aid. It had been an idea Roy and Riza proposed on their own years ago, and to see it come to life over and over again was blissfully satisfying. Even if her body threatened to spill the contents of her stomach all over her lap, Riza was glad to be with the children as they took their first steps into their new school.

“Oh, Miss Riza,” the boy in her lap cooed. His red eyes locked onto the Führer as he made his way toward them. Riza watched him stop every other step to make polite conversation with those who pressed for it. “Führer Mustang is very handsome.”

 _Sure, sure, sure,_ she thought, ignoring a throb of nausea. Of course he’s handsome. Dark hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders. Riza never failed to notice the way the younger officers looked at him like there were hearts in their eyes. She kept hers on him now as he crossed the schoolyard. How he managed to look so comfortable under his thick layers of stiff military blues was a mystery to her. The sun beat hard and unrelenting overhead, and she felt like she was cooking in it in her breezy blouse and slacks. But he shot flirty grins at the teachers and lifted his field cap to run a hand through his hair like it were a cool autumn afternoon. She would have scoffed if she weren’t so afraid of blowing chunks.

He started for her again, finally managing to break free from the dozens of people who wanted their time with the handsome new Führer. His grin melted away into a gentle smile when his eyes found hers. Her stomach did a flip. _Oh no._

She could feel the threat of bile on her tongue. When Roy was within her reach, she plucked the boy from her lap and handed him off. Instead of spewing her breakfast out in front of school faculty and children and the press, she decided to swallow the sick until she could slump into the shade behind a petite, square building labeled “LIBRARY.” She retched into the dirt, her emotions stuck somewhere between shame and indifference.

She wasn’t surprised when Roy’s voice drifted over the sound of her gagging. “You should have stayed home,” he said. He offered her a paper cup of water. She forced herself to sip at it instead of pouring the whole of it over her face like she wanted to. Each time she took a drink the taste of vomit went staler in her mouth, and she felt the heat in her cheeks deepen the longer she let the hot air linger over it. “The last thing I want is for you to be miserable.”

“It seems that’s all this baby wants,” Riza huffed. Roy laughed. Softly, quiet enough that it didn’t echo off the buildings and carry out to the people gathered in the yard.

“It’s not the baby, my dear, it’s your body.” He touched her cheek, ran a thumb along her jaw. “I would make this pregnancy the easiest in the world if I could.”

“You could have not gotten me pregnant,” she said, fully aware of how petty she sounded. Roy wasn’t fazed.

“I don’t remember you protesting,” he smirked. His fingers curled around her face.

Riza took a breath. _Führer Mustang is very handsome_.

She crinkled the paper cup in one hand and braced her other on her husband’s chest. She leaned forward, went up on her toes a little, and pressed a kiss to his lips. She’d claim later that it was the hormones, the stuff raging around in her blood that was causing her to feel so disgusting, but he wouldn’t believe it. He attempted to deepen the kiss but she fell back, putting a hand over his mouth.

“I just threw up,” she reminded him. “A foot to your right, actually.”

Roy shrugged. “It’s baby vomit,” he tried to rationalize. Riza suppressed a snicker.

“Baby vomit is a baby’s vomit, Roy, not vomit brought on by a baby.”

He leaned into her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. “Okay,” he said, feigning agitation. He wound his arms across her back and hugged her to him. She whimpered a little when the pressure got to be too much for her fragile belly and he pulled back to ghost a kiss over forehead. “You want to hide out in one of the offices in the school? The air conditioning unit is new, and I’ve heard it kicks in quick and works well.”

“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound like he’d just saved her life. She put a hand on the spot she thought her baby might be. “This kid better be worth it.”

Roy only smiled. “If there’s any bit of you in them, they will be.”


	3. Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Royai prompt idea #2: Roy is determined to do something nice for Riza on their anniversary, she of course has already planned something, roy, trying to one-up/surprise her proposes on the spot

Riza Hawkeye thought:  _Dammit, Roy_.   

This was supposed to be lighthearted. His words! She had suggested a small celebration between the two of them after his inauguration, maybe with wine, maybe with hard liquor, maybe with nothing at all but each other’s silent company and the hum of the country that they were now chang _ing_. But he’d pressed the need to acknowledge the anniversary of the day he’d hired her on as his adjutant instead. The events were close together, the anniversary snapping at the heels of their day, but they’d never addressed any anniversary of any nature before. She didn’t even know he’d been keeping a date like that in his head all these years. Most men remembered the first time they had kissed a woman, or taken her to bed, or asked her to dinner, but  _goddammit Roy Mustang_  he remembered the day he gave her permission to kill him.  

Riza had planned for this. Well maybe not  _this_  but she’d known there was a very real possibility he would forget his gift, or even the day entirely. He was Führer now. Not just a general in charge of the Ishvalan reconstruction but a world leader who balanced on the opinions of his nation’s people and who still had to sweet talk General Olivier Armstrong to get into Briggs. And she had seen this coming,  _so what the hell, Roy?_  It isn’t like he had to ask anyway. She knew what she was going to do after she’d gunned his way to the top: retire, perhaps visit Al in Xing, take a train with Ed to Creta, finally try that one bar off Goodacre that Rebecca and Havoc always raved about… and marry the Führer. She was sure he’d known that. In fact, they’d explicitly discussed it.  

Still, a fine sheen of nervousness coated his features. She could see it plainly because her face was in his hands, and his nose was an inch from touching hers. Normally that would have made her uncomfortable, but the question he’d posed was lingering heavily in the air, mixing with her judgement and together they fogged her head. She curled her fingers over his forearms and brought them down. He gave in and dropped his hands to his sides, always obeying her wishes, respecting her personal space. She breathed in.  

_Will you marry me?_

“This isn’t necessary, sir,” she told him. It really, truly, sincerely was not. It almost put a blush on her face. She could feel the threat of it, trying to creep from her ears to her cheekbones. She forced her eyes onto the sill of the window behind him in a desperate attempt to stifle the heat. “You aren’t supposed to ask someone to marry you just because you forgot to get them a gift.”  

She didn’t look to him, but when he chuckled she could feel that lopsided grin of his, the way it spread lazily across his face, and her heart stuttered against her ribs. She hoped to any kind of god that when she opened her mouth next her words wouldn’t do the same. “I know, Captain, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve never made it a habit to propose to people I forgot to get gifts for. If I had then I would have married Hughes a dozen times over.” He paused. “But you know you’re different.”  

She sighed and, with as much bravery as she could muster, said: “What will you do when we are married, sir? If you forget that anniversary will you default to proposing again? I’m not so sure it’ll work another time or two.” She dared to look at his face, and caught sight of a smile that might have made her knees go weak.  _Might have_. 

“I would never forget that anniversary, Captain,” he told her. “But to even have it you’ve got to retire first.”  

“If you forget anniversaries that you yourself propose celebrating, sir, then I think you might still need me in the office,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to retire only to hear you’ve forgotten to sign a peace treaty and proposed to the Tsar of Drachma as some kind of apology.”  

He smirked. “All right, Captain, stay here for as long as you deem necessary but just know I’m getting impatient. I may ask again… and again, and again. Even though marrying the Tsar might actually be a sound idea. People have united opposing sides with marriage for hundreds of years. It very well could work.”  

Her smile came automatically, as it always did, and he looked a bit smug, a bit triumphant as he let the conversation fizz out and turned back to his massive oak desk where letters and paperwork and pens waited to be fiddled with. She took his cue and fell back to her own corner of the office. They worked for a while, the silence between them was familiar and comfortable, and when everything that had happened started to skirt to the back of Riza’s mind as she became preoccupied with her work, Roy lifted his eyes from his desktop.  

“I proposed to you,” he started, pointing his pen to the gift she had brought him, which he had just noticed, “and you got me a  _World’s Best Boss_  mug?”  

“It’s the anniversary of you giving me a job, sir,” she deadpanned. “What did you expect, a proposal?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dec. 17th, 2017


	4. Role Reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Royai prompt idea thing... as a prank/ bet roy and riza switch roles in the office for the day

“Lieutenant Hawkeye?”

Riza didn’t bother to lift her gloved hand from the desk as the men began to file into the office. She knew they would react this way. She knew they would have questions. Why wouldn’t they? When Roy had called her the night before and suggested that she wear his gloves and sit in his chair even she’d been confused, to say the least.

“I just want to see what the guys will do!” he’d said. She’d agreed because she knew more work would get done in the day with her pulling the reins. It was a win-win, really.

“Get to work, Havoc,” she said, ignoring his probing look. She signed Roy’s name on a document about potholes in the eastern district and slid it away to read over the next paper in her queue. “I’m your colonel today.”

“Colonel Hawkeye with Colonel Mustang’s freaky fire gloves?” Breda said. “Somehow those gloves seem more threatening on you than the colonel, and you can’t even use them.”

Riza let the corners of her mouth tip into a smile.

“I’m a lieutenant today, Breda,” Roy said. He sauntered into the room and took a seat in Riza’s desk chair, a revolver clinging neatly to his hip. His hands were bare and while Riza had seen them that way many times, they still caught her eye. She became hyper aware of the itch of cloth on her fingers. “Colonel Hawkeye, Get back to work please,” he deadpanned. She sighed.

“Sir I’ve already read and signed four different documents and it’s only eight o’clock.”

“Yet you still have stacks upon stacks left to go,” he said. His dark eyes landed on the mountain of paperwork to her left. “If you don’t get all of that done by this afternoon then we’ll all have to stay late and I won’t be happy about it.”

Riza blinked. Had she said that exact sentence to him before? No. Yes? Was he messing with her? She was sure she noticed his pitch rise.

“I’d like to see you in the hall, Lieutenant,” she said. He smirked and followed her out the large double doors to the hallway, which was empty thanks to the units of men who didn’t have Lieutenant Hawkeyes to keep them coming and going on time.

“What’s this about, Colonel?” Roy asked. Riza raised an eyebrow at him.

“Did you want to switch roles so you could nag me, sir?” she said. Roy looked as though he were weighing sentences in his head, testing them out on his tongue and trying to gauge which one would bring him the least backlash. He grinned when he found one he liked.

“I just think you’re really cute when you’re annoyed, Hawkeye,” he said. Riza glanced over her shoulders, checking instinctually for anyone who could have heard what he’d just said. Not that it mattered. The people they worked with thought Roy was an incorrigible womanizer, and she knew they wouldn’t read too much into his flirting with a subordinate. Still, she whirled her eyes on his smug face.

“You didn’t want to see what the men would do at all,” she accused. “You just wanted to tease me.”

Roy slipped his hands into his pockets. “You got me,” he said. He looked as though he’d been hoping she would. She started to pull his gloves off her hands, unsurprised by his joke and admittedly a little amused as well. He caught her hands in his.

“Wait, Hawkeye,” he said. He leaned in close, too close, and Riza’s heartbeat picked up so fast she worried he could hear it or feel it against her wrists. When his mouth was close enough to her hear that she could feel his breath on her neck he said, “I want you to finish the paperwork first.”

She snatched her hands from his and shoved his gloves into his pocket. The action caused his face to redden, and she reveled in his flustered state as she stripped the holster and revolver from his waist and fastened both to hers, where they rightfully belonged. When she trudged past him back into the office she made for his desk first, where she took to scribbling over her forged signatures. He watched from the doorway as she placed the papers she’d read back into their pile.

“Get to work, Colonel,” she said. She had expected him to frown, but he smiled at her fondly instead, and she had to fight the heat that threatened to turn her cheeks pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nov. 5th, 2017


	5. Harry Potter AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> statticghost asked: adding to the HP au, instead of ed's patronus changing imagine winry's does, liek one day she casts it for fun or something and it's this massive lion, also when/if Al gets his body back in the AU his changes to a lion as well, they're a pride

Ed sat on the edge of his brother’s sick bed. He waited as patiently as he could for Al to come to, for Winry to find them up on the highest level of the infirmary, where the owls’ hoots drove Ed to madness. Where was she, anyway? He’d seen her stupefy a mess of the weird, white soldiers before he vanished into the Gate. When he came back out with Al in tow, she wasn’t anywhere in his line of sight. He’d panicked for a moment, wondered if he’d lost her. But Hawkeye’d draped her Auror’s coat over his shoulders and whispered to him that Winry was okay, and was helping to see to the wounded on the other side of Hogwarts.

“That’s just like her,” he said now. He tipped his head back to look at his sleeping brother. Al’s cheeks were sunken in and his muscles were extremely atrophied, but his chest rose and fell in a soft rhythm that put a smile on Ed’s face. He couldn’t wait to see his brother in Gryffindor robes again, on a broom again, his wand in hand, his face full and eyes bright. He looked down at his own shrunken arm. “We’re kind of a mess aren’t we, Al?”

“Ed?” 

Ed’s eyes shot up. Winry was standing in the doorway, her bandages and bottle of antibiotics falling from her fingers to land in a series of clanks at her feet. She had a bruise over her right eye and a laceration in her jaw, but she looked okay otherwise. “Winry,” he said, standing. “I got Al back, Winry, look.” But her eyes were already there, and they were welling with tears.

“Winry?” Al’s voice cracked into Ed’s ears hoarse and soft, and Ed thought he might choke on tears of his own. “Brother?”

Ed turned, looked into his brother’s golden eyes for the first time in years. They were just as he remembered them; warm, intelligent. He was about to speak when he felt something crash into his back, knocking the air out of him, sending him flying onto the bed and over Al’s frail body. “Winry,” he twisted around under her grip until he was laying next to his brother. “You have to be more careful. Al’s body is really fragile.” 

Winry didn’t respond. She wound her arms around the brothers’ necks and hugged them to her. She wormed her way between them and pulled out her wand. “Expecto Patronum,” she whispered, almost too quietly for Ed to hear. He waited for her patronus to come bounding out of the end of her wand, a dog with floppy ears and a puffy chest, but what he saw made his heart skip. A lioness sprouted out of the tip of Winry’s long wand and prowled around in the air, purring. He glanced at her, but she was watching the lioness, her tears staining the sides of her face. 

Ed took his wand from his pocket and conjured his own patronus, a lioness that matched Winry’s perfectly. The two flitted around the room, pawing at one another. He reached over and wiped Winry’s tears away. 

“I want to try too, Brother,” Al said. Ed took Al’s wand from the bedside table and handed it to him. As a suit of armor, Al’s patronus had been a cat. But Ed hypothesized that much of Al’s magical ability had been stashed away at the Gate, and he was curious to see what his brother would conjure now. Al flicked his wrist and out came a magnificent lion whose face was framed by a flowing mane. He circled the room, the other lioness’ still playing together in the air. 

“We’re a pride.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oct. 27th, 2017


	6. Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 24 roy and riza?

He sees her and knows she’s a dream. She stands at the foot of his bed, not really transparent but glowing. Wisps of light trace her frame and curl and bounce around her like grass dancing in the wind. She doesn’t speak, but he sits up and calls to her all the same. The streetlights flicker as she moves silently to his bedside, looking like she’s skating over ice. He reaches for her shirt sleeve but stops halfway there, his fingers twitching in the space between them.

(If he touches her he’ll feel nothing.) 

She’s the color of moonlight. Her hair rises and falls like she’s floating underwater, and she’s wearing his white button down which is billowing out around her waist. His heart starts to ache. It’s not a sharp pain but a deep, dull one - it starts in his bicep and claws its way to his chest where it stays until she sits on her side of the bed. He thinks about shying away from her until she touches his cheek. It’s just a ghost, just the flit of air across his skin, but it’s enough that he can pretend she’s really there.

He lays back down and beckons her to follow. She does, and he stares into her eyes and watches them go from the deep bluish black of the night sky to something dirty and hollow. He again tries to reach for her, but comes up short just before his palm meets her head, knowing that the way her face is sinking in means that he’ll need to face a reality soon. 

She closes the distance herself, and her hand snakes around his neck to hold the back of his head. She’s so close that he should be feeling her breath on his lips but he doesn’t, and that fact kills him, and he closes his eyes and pretends he doesn’t smell the wood of her coffin as she kisses him.

(It feels like nothing.)

She’s gone when he opens his eyes again. But she’ll be back tomorrow night and the night after that, and every other night. She’ll visit him as a reminder, as a woman who has come back from the dead and he’ll welcome her each time. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (written as a part of the Buried Alive canon AKA Riza is dead) Jan. 6th, 2018


	7. Papa!Roy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tsaritsa asked: 20 and royai for the kisses prompt?

Riza’s face was flushed, her hair stuck in stringy clumps to her forehead and temples even hours after labor had ended and their child had cracked her first cry. Roy took the pieces carefully between his fingers as she slept and twisted them until they came undone, the weak bond the sweat created giving easily under his touch. He didn’t need to do this for any discernible reason - he just wanted to touch his wife. Sometimes he let his hand travel downward to the infant nestled against her breasts, and his palm swept over the soft tuft of hair there on her head. Blonde, he mused,  _like her mother._ And then he ghosted the back of his hand over the hill of Riza’s cheek and she stirred, her lashes fluttering gracefully until her amber eyes met his, alight with the sunlight coming through the window but tired all the same. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked her. She touched her chin to their new baby’s head and gave him a smile. Her hand cupped their daughter’s cheek, which was plump and pink.

“Exhausted,” she breathed, and he heard it in her voice. He stood, his back warmed by the sun and his dress shirt hanging loose and untucked at his hips, to place his hands on either side of her head. She only barely touched the tip of her nose to his. “How are you feeling?”

“Fatigued,” he said, and dipped his head down to press a chaste kiss to her lips, “but decidedly happy as well.” 

He felt her grin against his lips and one of her hands snaked up the back of his head. Her fingers curled into his greying hair, and if she didn’t have her arm coiled around their child Roy was sure she would have grabbed a fist full of his collar as well. She joined their lips again, but this time she welcomed him with an open mouth and he took the invitation eagerly, feeling the tiredness but also the need to make out with his wife unashamedly and (quite literally) over the beginning of their new family. He only broke their kiss when he heard his daughter’s soft whine. 

He pulled back and beckoned for her, and Riza handed her off like she was giving away a hefty inheritance. Roy chuckled. “She is yours, you know,” he said. “I’m not going to run off with her.” Riza smiled.

“She’s  _ours_ , Roy,” she reminded him. He sunk back into his chair and placed his new baby on his chest, where she smacked her lips and gripped at the folds in his shirt. He touched her small button-like nose, and ran a finger from one of her closed eyes to the other, marveling at how beautiful she was.  _Like her mother._

“Ours,” he repeated, and reached out to take Riza’s hand in his. He leaned forward and placed a kiss over her knuckles. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, ready to drift back into sleep. Roy felt the pull too, and he kept his wife’s hand in his and his daughter anchored to his body as he let sleep take him, knowing well that he wouldn’t be getting much of it for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jan. 16th, 2018


	8. We Can Never Be Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adler-hawkeye asked: for the 'send me a number' thing: #25, royai. make it hurt.

Roy didn’t want the chaos to die down. He wanted the nurses to fret over him, and he wanted Knox to worry and Havoc to keep calling and he never wished for a silence to sound outside of his tent, not once. He couldn’t take what the loss of the distractions would do to him. It was cowardly of him, maybe, to hope he could avoid being alone with his thoughts because there in that empty, white, loud space was the nagging fact that she -

_Riza_

\- was somewhere along the periphery of the gaping hole in the ground having her neck sewn shut. 

But Rebecca didn’t let him dodge his lieutenant for long. She found him after Marcoh did, when Roy was still reeling from the doctor’s promise, and all but dragged him by the arm across the tattered parade grounds. He couldn’t see but he could feel and hear and smell the bloodied soldiers and the earth turned up by battle. That called to his mind fuzzy images of grainy sands, sweat, heat, fire, and a girl who wasn’t supposed to be weaponized but had become so anyway. His doing, he’d thought then, and he thought so now as he watched Riza’s carotid come apart and spill itself over the stone floor behind his eyelids. 

_How many times is that now?_ he thought, and he suddenly dreaded hearing her voice. _When will it stop?_

Rebecca lugged him across a threshold and his feet quit crunching on upturned dirt. He didn’t know where he was but he smelled antiseptics and heard the scuffling of shoes over linoleum floors and surmised that perhaps they’d made it to a hospital, or Bradley’s estate or headquarters. It didn’t matter, really, but the wondering kept him sane. He could feel how close he was getting to her - like he was a magnet and she was his iron.

A few people questioned them - nurses, Roy realized easily - but none made a move to stop them. After an inquiry from a third nurse, Rebecca’s tight hold on Roy’s bicep loosened, and then fell away. He heard her open a door.

“Rebecca?” Riza’s voice. Roy winced.

“He’s blind, Ri, remember? As much as he’d like to see you shirtless, I don’t think his eyesight will return from sheer willpower.” Rebecca’s voice. Roy heard the shuffling of sheets, and a sharp intake of breath from Riza. “I’ll have them bring you some larger shirts. I don’t like that the fabric is chaffing against your bandages.”

“I’m okay, Becca,” Riza said, and Roy was relieved to hear how smoothly she spoke. She didn’t sound out of breath, just tired. He slipped his hands into his pockets and hoped he didn’t look as apprehensive as he felt. “Are you all right, Colonel?”

He started. “Worry about yourself, Lieutenant,” he said, and meant it. 

“She’s concerned for you, Colonel Asshole,” Rebecca said indignantly.

“Rebecca,” Riza said softly, “could you give us a minute?” Roy felt her hot gaze on him. Then he felt Rebecca’s travel his way as well, and he shifted uncomfortably in his spot outside the room. 

“Of course, Ri,” she said, then came at Roy and forced him roughly through the doorway. “Don’t rile her up. The doctor said that little patch job your friend did was good, but not good enough to justify her continued fighting. Her body’s in need of some serious care.” She shut the door and left him alone with his lieutenant then, her words striking through him like swords. 

“You have’t had anyone take a look at your hands, sir,” Riza said when the space quieted. Roy clenched and unclenched his hands in his slacks. He’d forgotten about the slits in his palms, admittedly, while he’d been tied up with philosopher’s stones and thinking of anything but his time underneath Central. “I’ll let my doctor know you need something done about them.”

“Lieutenant,” he said, “my hands are minced and I can’t see but you almost lost your life. Please focus on your recovery.”

He heard the sheets again, and then the sound of pant legs rubbing together. She was in front of him in a few easy strides, and behind closed doors and curtains she put her hands on either side of his face, cupping his cheeks and jaw. “I am,” she said.

He brought a hand of his up and ran it along her hip, over her stomach and ribs, following the line of her until he reached the tight wrappings over her throat. He stilled there and waited for her to flinch but she didn’t. He fisted her shirt in his other hand, and pulled her closer, laying his palm over the warm, corded flesh of her neck. 

“What’s bothering you, Colonel?” she said.

He could’t tell her it was the gross truth of it all. That from the moment Bradley took her he’d been living with terror in his gut, and something in his bones told him that if he didn’t make every move perfect then she would pay. He wouldn’t dare try explaining to her that he regretted the weight he put on her shoulders, or that the color of her blood haunted him and he blamed himself wholeheartedly for the way it sank into the cracks in the ground. 

He had no words to tell her he was terrified of how close she was to him.

He tried his best to align her mouth with his, tilting her chin up with with his thumb, but still he missed and kissed the corner of her mouth. She turned her face to his and met his lips squarely with hers. She tried to pull away as quickly as she’d gotten close, but he didn’t let her. He locked her head in place and ran his tongue along her bottom lip in a desperate attempt to coax her into opening up for him. She did, her fingers curling at the nape of his neck and folding into his hair. 

She tasted like mint and coffee. He hadn’t kissed her in months, but still he knew this was new. He felt the cool wetness in the thickest part of her hair that indicated she’d gotten to shower, and his hands retreated to her hips. He broke from her lips to kiss her eye, her nose, her cheek. He smelled the soap, faint but fragrant, and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, twisting his head so he rested his lips over the spot that haunted him in his nothingness. She forced her hands under his jacket and locked herself to his chest.

“Marcoh has a philosopher’s stone,” he breathed against her, “and he can restore my sight with it.”

She tightened herself to him and hummed contentedly into his chest, not knowing he’d just meant to kiss her for the last time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feb. 8th, 2018


	9. Jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 21, Royal!

What was he so mad about? He’d been the one to suggest this whole thing. “Pretend you like him or something,” is _exactly_  what he’d said. So she did. That young officer - Reed - he’d been asking her out periodically for the last year, and Roy hadn’t seemed particularly bothered by it. He’d  _said_  to let the man take her to dinner, perhaps out for a drink, because, “at the very least it’ll quiet the rumors about  _us_.”

Reed was handsome, so Riza hadn’t protested the idea of an evening out with him. He had a nicely squared face, a big, red beard, and a neck as thick as the tree trunk outside her office window. He had weight to him too that he carried in his chest, his arms, back, and hands. When he put his hand at the small of her back his thumb touched one hip and the tip of his middle finger was a centimeter shy of the other. She never thought she’d be one for the big guys but perhaps that was because her idea of a “big guy” was Armstrong, and pretty as he was he’d just never been her type. Reed, though…

It didn’t matter. Riza’s one date with the man was her last, and she ended up at Madame Christmas’s empty bar the very next night with her newly-brusque superior. She didn’t meet him here often, but on the nights when the Madame had business deep in the city and the girls were working she offered the space to her boy, knowing well enough who he’d invite into the quiet privateness. Sure enough, he did invite Riza, and he’d seemed to do it so he could give his subordinate the cold shoulder. 

Riza propped her elbow up on the bar and rested her chin in her palm. She set an indignant stare on her superior officer. “You told me to go out with him, sir,” she said, “and now you’re jealous that I’ve done just that.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said, but it came out fast and defensive like the bark of a cornered dog. 

“Of course you are,” Riza told him. He pulled his gaze away from the half-soda-half-whiskey mixture the Madame had made for him before she left and set his dark eyes on her. Her stomach flipped at the sight of him, his brows pulled together like he was calculating something in his head, scrutinizing her. And those eyes, well…Riza would trade the bigness and the beard for them any day. She thought to tell him so, but his hand reached out in the same moment she opened her mouth and his fingers dug pleasantly into her thigh. 

Roy stood from his stool in a deliberately slow kind of way, and Riza tried to focus on what he was doing but the heat of his hand high up on her thigh stole her attention and caged it. She went rigid in her seat and waited as his hand crept up and up her leg, and he stood between her legs and those dark eyes bore down on her like the sun. She saw the jealousy plainly in his face, and despite the position he had her in she smirked up at him. He bent down so his eyes were level with hers, and his other hand found a home on her other thigh, his thumb gripping along the crease where her thigh met her pelvis. He smirked back at her before closing the distance between their lips, one she’d admittedly hoped he’d breach. 

He kept himself maddeningly controlled as he kissed her. One of his hands tilted her head back and the other pulled her into him and she didn’t stop it. She felt a rush of warmth course through her, hot and not at all foreign, and that was what he wanted her to feel.  _Reed can’t make you squirm like this_ , he was saying, and  _fuck he isn’t wrong,_  she thought.

She tasted his drink on his tongue, in his mouth, on his breath. Her fingers tunneled through his hair despite herself, and there was no stopping the way she crushed her body to his and begged for him to pick up the pace, which was lethargic and not at all what she craved. “Roy,” she practically growled in his ear as he bit at hers. His name was a stranger to her, but she didn’t feel like calling out his rank tonight. 

“Riza,” he responded, mocking. 

“You’ve made your point,” she almost whined, and he smiled against her cheek, “so cut the bullshit, sir.”

He left her abruptly then, a grin on his face, to return to his drink. The abandoned glass had started to sweat, and little droplets of water rolled from his thumb down his forearm as he drank, following the lines of his muscles and she ripped her eyes from the scene to glare at him. “Are you pleased with yourself?”

He eyed her flushed face. “Quite so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feb. 14th, 2018


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's smutty! READERS BEWARE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tsaritsa asked: 171 royai ;)))

 

Riza had to be coached through her first blowjob. It was fine, really, because her coach was Roy and there was something about a boy who knew what he was doing that really made a young Riza feel safe, and…tingly? breathless?  _warm_?

She remembered that he’d kept ghosting his fingers over the crown of her head that first time. She hadn’t known why, but he’d say, “ _Ah_ , Riza,” and barely touch her. It was like she was one of those pretty gems in the glass cases at the eastern museum - the ones that sat below overbearing signs that read, “DO NOT TOUCH,” because, as the tour guide would say, “They are fragile.”

Even as a child that hadn’t made sense to Riza.  _Aren’t gems rocks_ , she’d thought,  _and even if they aren’t, shouldn’t they be tough enough to be touched anyway?_

So she’d told Roy, “I’m not so breakable, you know,” and that had allowed him to unfold. Before she’d given him such blatant permission to act they were two young adults fumbling around at one another in the dark, not so unsure but not steadily  _sure_ , either, and now they know just how far they’re allowed to go; what it takes to elicit a whimper or a moan from either of them.

Roy learned quickly that he could get whatever he wanted out of Riza, and that she’d let him.

> ***              

It was half-past midnight, and Riza began to sweat. She watched from the bar as Roy said his goodbyes to colleagues, peers, and superiors. His face was pinking and he swayed as though he’d had too much to drink but he knew - and Riza knew - that four glasses of whiskey and a shot of bourbon weren’t enough to cinch his lucidity so precisely. It was a clever ploy. Roy would drink enough to put most men on their asses and then slur his speech purposefully, feign imbalance and claim quite loudly to Riza that she had to take him to headquarters to gather his things, and then home so he could sleep.

They never made it to his home, not once. He always pressed but as the mountain in the relationship, Riza never budged. She was always standing sturdy against Roy’s winds, and his assurance, and insistence because one of them had to be firm and it was best that it be her. Roy would crumble into dust if she wiggled a hand down his pants and asked to be taken into his bed, and truthfully she crumbled when he did it to her but she somehow managed to hold fast onto her rationality even as he plucked away at it with each kiss, and caress, and nip.

_We can’t go to his place because someone might see_ , she reminded herself as she saw Roy smile and butterflies went up in her belly,  _and we’d be in there too long and then someone might suspect._

By the time Roy found his way to her side Riza was bordering on giddy.  _This_ happened once - or occasionally twice - in a six month span and she was truthfully tired of playing fantasies out in her head alone and in her bed or in her tub or on her couch when the star of her wanderings was feet - and sometimes just inches - away from her for the better part of her days.

Roy recognized her eagerness and said, “I’m ready to leave, Captain.” Riza, her pulse starting to thunder in her ears, only nodded and then hooked her arm in his and guided him carefully toward their exit. It was elating, really, to go out the grand doors as his adjutant, his bodyguard, his  _platonic_ coworker and then find herself (as she inevitably always did) stamped into the wall of their shared office space only minutes later. The command center was mostly barren at late hours on any given day and so quiet you could hear the chatter of civilians on the sidewalks outside and Roy was aggravatingly good at utilizing this kind of freedom.

_Oh_ , Riza found it so easy to fuck him on the heels of formal events.

And on this particular night he was eerily calculative. He followed Riza into their office with seemingly nothing spurring him forward except the way Riza mumbled, just in case anyone happened to be nearby, “Before we leave you need to go over a few more proposals with me, sir.” He said a low agreement and Riza, as she unlocked their door, worried that he might have drank a little too much after all, or that perhaps he wasn’t in the mood. She groaned inwardly at the thought of another night left to her imagination and stepped into the office, and was promptly sandwiched by Roy into the other side of the intricate wooden door.

“Sir,” she said, and a hand of his went to the doorknob to work at the lock while his other worried the hemline of her pants, pulling small gasps out of her as easily as he might one of her glares. She sighed and bent into him and held fast onto his collar until he said, gruffly, in the same way he does every time, “Get on your knees.”

She heard the latch click into place and it was done, the door was locked and their fate was sealed.  _Finally_. She looked to the hard concrete floor and her knees screamed and she wished they could fuck some place more comfortable for once - a bed, maybe, or someone’s carpeted living room.

“Actually,” Roy started, noticing Riza’s apprehension, “turn around.” He shed his coat and shirt and Riza’s eyes drank him up like kids from the water hose on hot summer days. She reached out and touched the mangled scar on his abdomen first and then ventured over the rest of him, across his stomach and up his chest, feeling the contours and trying to memorize each dip and edge. He watched her patiently until her hand coasted downward, and she gently took his stirrings in her hand. He closed his eyes and groaned, and then reiterated, “Turn around, Riza.”

She obliged. She met the wall beside the door and wondered noncommittally about what he intended to do to her. She listened to him remove his boots, then belt and slacks. He pulled her jacket from her shoulders and peeled her undershirt from her too and took handfuls of her breasts and nipped at her ears. She felt him against her ass, hot and prodding, and as he relieved her of her bra and rolled her nipples between his fingers she said, “ _Ah_ , Roy,” and it was as close to pleading as she could get without losing her resolve to stand.

He hummed at the nape of her neck. “Take your belt off,” he said. She obeyed him with shaky fingers. The anticipation was quickening her heart and pooling between her legs. “Unbuckle your slacks,” he commanded too as his lips followed the line of her neck to her shoulder. She did.

His hand, calloused and big, left her breast and traveled down. He crossed the threshold of her pants line and she gasped, and then whimpered when his fingers plunged into her wet center. Immediately, her knees gave out. He reached an arm across her abdomen and held her upright, and her hands flew to his biceps in an attempt to siphon more stability from him. He pumped a finger in and out of her leisurely, and each time she felt herself fall closer and closer to the floor.

She wanted to whine at him, but she knew him. Her pleading would only make him want to tease her more, but when he pressed his palm into her clit, she bit her lip and said his name. He smiled against her cheek.

“What is it you want?” he said. She huffed at the wall and wished momentarily for his movements to stop so she could form a coherent sentence. She was already edging dangerously close to her finish with each swipe of his hand over her clit, and he knew as much. He knew exactly what he was doing to her because her body was not new to him - he’d mapped every inch of it through time, and he’d taken her apart and learned what made her tick and since then she’s been  _his_. She tried to rest her forehead against the wall but Roy pulled her back, eliminating her chance to gain better ground. “What do you want, Riza?”

“You know what I want,” she ground out, and his hand retreated. “Roy, no-” she stopped short as he twirled them both around and walked them a few paces forward. They reached the desk at the center of the room and he urged her down over it. She shimmied her hips to help him slip her slacks to her ankles and his hand returned to her then. His fingers became more dexterous with the given space and as he slipped one, two, three into her his thumb worked mercilessly at her clit. She tried instinctively to close her legs on him but his kept her open, and bare, and vulnerable.

Riza’s orgasm was building like the pressure in the barrel of one of her guns. Roy had his finger on the trigger and he tugged at it deliberately slow, and she knew that when the chamber filled and the bullet flew, the room would explode. “Roy,” she warned, because even if the command center was deserted it was still unwise for her to be screaming at the window when he brought her to her finish. The hand he had planted into her back crept up and up until he curled his fingers around her jaw and caught her mouth in his palm.

It was only seconds later when she fell apart in his hands, and he helped her through the whole thing, his hand catching her loud mewls, his fingers moving with the rhythm her hips had set. She went limp over the table when her orgasm subsided. Roy released her mouth and grabbed her hips and forced her up further on the table’s surface, onto her toes, and even though she knew it was coming she still ate a mouthful of air when he entered her.

He bent down and grunted in her ear as he started to move. He was not leisure now. He was wild like the fire he sparked from his hands, and his cock was hot like it too. He held fast onto her hips, his fingers digging small craters in her flesh, and hid his moans in the side of her neck. She tried to match his speed but her body was so tired from the time of night, from her day, and from what he’d done to her that she could only hope to meet him halfway when she remembered to. He gently took a fistful of her hair. “Don’t go out on me,” he panted, and then she felt his hand at her center again as his movements slowed, and the fire spread from his hips to his fingers, and she lit up like a match.

She kept his name on her lips like a prayer, whispering it into his face. It took no time at all the second time, with him filling her and his practiced hand coaxing another orgasm out of her by way of the sensitive bud of nerves between her legs. “If you plan to rouse me by making me come again,” she said choppily, in between her gasps, “then I think tha-”

He kissed her as she came for him, her legs turning to goo. She breathed heavily, her back hitting his chest as she gulped for air. He rode her wave down with her like he had the first time, his cock sliding in and out of her with little purpose other than intimacy. His hand left her center as she gathered herself and he slipped out of her. Cool air splashed over her back when he moved, leaving goosebumps to rise over her skin. She turned to look at him out of the blur of her periphery. “You’re not finished, are you?”

“No,” he said, then smirked. “Get on your knees.” Riza should have known he wouldn’t end the night without her lips around the length of him. She was happy to give him what he wanted, and when she crouched onto her knees she had her discarded slacks to keep them cushioned.

She could taste herself on him. She suspected that turned him on and must have been why he had her come on him first, and so she hummed and licked like she was testing a new flavor for the first time. He groaned, his fingers teasing her hair, wanting to tug but not, and she gave him incentive, a gentle shove: She wouldn’t take the full of him in her mouth, not until he begged for it, and so she ran her tongue from the base of his cock along the length of it and to the tip, and she felt him tense and arch his hips when she circled his head. He put a hand on the back of her head and her eyes flashed to his for a moment. They were wide, dark and predatory, and everything she’d seen in him before and wished to see a dozen times more.

She took half of him in her mouth suddenly, and he moaned her name, and she said, “I’m not so breakable, you know,” and like always that had been all he needed.

Roy was never rough with Riza, not in day to day life or when they fucked, but when she bent below him, and gave him permission, something would always change in his face. She looked up at him now, waiting, and felt his hands tangle in her hair. He looked like he had daggers in his eyes and a fire rising up around them, making them hot, making her heart flutter in its cage like a nervous bird.

She gave him what he wanted then and pumped her hand along his length and filled her mouth with as much of him as she could, occasionally letting him go to wet the parts of him she couldn’t fit down her throat. His pants and groans filled the room, and her name filled the room, and she felt pride at the way she made him feel. He never loosened his grip on her hair, and his hands and hips moved as she did to keep him gliding in and out and she could taste the bitterness of him as he got close, and he stiffened, and his movements eventually stopped but hers didn’t.

He buckled over as he came, his body jerking, his fingers coming undone from her hair. Riza found his eyes after she’d taken all of him, and the daggers were gone and replaced by something softer. He put a hand on her face and ran another through his dampening hair.

“Not breakable,” he said, as he had a million times before. “I’ll remember that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 9th, 2018 (almost been a year and i'm still not good at smut r i p)


	11. One Bed, Two Officers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iwouldshipsaltandpepper asked: Write the most cliche troupy mess you can think of.

Riza dropped her bags, exhausted. Moonlight had started to trickle into the sky as the countryside darkened, dimming everything around her. She felt the pull of sleep deep in her bones and sighed, blowing her fringe out of her face.  

Roy approached her from behind, his own luggage falling from his grip to thump to the wooden floor. He smelled like old sweat and Havoc’s smoke and the upholstery of the train. “Two rooms, please,” he said, his voice thick with tiredness. The receptionist looked him up and down.

“We don’t got two rooms,” she said, and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Everyone and their brother and their brother’s dog is in town this week.”

“For  _what_?” Roy whined. His fingers reached wildly for the handle of the suitcase at his side, and Riza guided it into his hand with her foot. 

“Why should I know?”

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. His fist was wrapped so tightly around the handle of this luggage that his knuckles were turning white. Riza touched his hand and he looked at her, the bags under his eyes nearly matching the onyx of his irises. She said, “We’ll take the one room, please.”

The receptionist took her time checking them in, retrieving their keys, and making Roy’s change for the cost of the room. Darkness had eaten up the world outside by the time she finished and sent them on their way. They had to climb several flights of stairs before reaching their floor, and as they ascended Roy had promised repeatedly to sleep on the couch.

“It isn’t a problem,” he huffed. “I can sleep anywhere, but you’ve never managed a good sleep out of a bed.”

Their room smelled faintly of manure and mildew. The painted walls were chipped; the sheets sported a fine dusting of dirt; and the only working light was a lamp on the wobbly bedside table. Riza pulled its thin, frayed string and lit the room.

“No couch,” Roy lamented. `

The things that made up the room included a small mattress with a dent in its middle, the bedside table on its right, and a writing desk adjacent to a dusty window. And, Riza affirmed, no couch. 

Roy muttered something about Führer Bradley and his mandatory joint training as he slipped out of his boots and tossed his coat and jacket over the back of a chair. He dropped onto the bed, stirring the dirt. It erupted off the comforter and the sheets in a puff of smoke only to fall slowly back to the bed. 

“I’m too tired to care about where we sleep right now, Hawkeye.” He mumbled into the pillow. He pat at the opposite side of the bed, the one closest to Riza. She removed her jacket and boots and sat on the edge, accepting his invitation. Although she stayed upright, admittedly uncomfortable with her proximity to her superior, and read through the itinerary for the week while he drifted into sleep. 

Riza felt his breaths get steadily slower, shallower, and quieter the longer he slept. She eventually gathered the courage to prop a dirty pillow against the wall and sit fully in the bed, and on the final page of the itinerary Roy shifted, lifting his head to reposition himself in his sleep. Riza froze when he settled his head in her lap, on the center of her left thigh. One of his hands slid up the length of her shin and buried itself under his cheek. 

If Riza were a more rational woman - a less sleepy woman - she might have recoiled, drawn her legs out from under him, or stepped off the bed. But she let him lay there even as his arm wormed its way under her knee. She sat still as a board for a few beats of her heart, but gradually softened as she watched him sleep, his back rising and falling and rising and falling in a predictable rhythm. 

Riza couldn’t remember falling asleep when she woke the next morning, sunlight streaming through the tattered blinds. The lamp was still on beside her, and the itinerary was open to the last page on her lap. She rubbed sleep from her eyes and checked the clock next to the lamp: 0600. 

Roy was still dozing, his arms tangled around Riza’s leg. She watched him sleep for minute or two before she elected to let him continue, to risk  _this one time_  the possibility of them missing a train, being late. Besides, she reasoned, she hadn’t finished working her way through the itinerary yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oct. 14th, 2018


	12. Rainy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Rainy day royai cuddles!!!

She swears she can see straight through his shirt and to the bone, like her hawk eyes are magic. The heat from her small apartment-sized furnace kicks on behind her and she feels a damp, icy chill spill over her chest as warmth creeps across her shoulder blades. Roy’s breath puffs from his mouth like the smoke that curls out from between Havoc’s lips when he sucks on a cigarette. His clothes cling to his frame, help to carve out the lines of muscle in his arms, his neck, his chest.

She contemplates closing the door in his face. Rivulets of water sparkle in his hair from the moonlight and faded lamplights. His black eyes are deep, calculating things with cogs and levers and she becomes concerned that he is seeing through her too, right to the bone. The muscles in her arm spasm, warning her that what he wants is to step inside her space, to forfeit the comfort of their barriers and ease them down. He wants to trade normality and caution for actual, visceral touch. She can tell as much in the way he trails his chilled fingers down the curve of her cheek.

She starts to shut the door, but the wind picks up and she catches him shivering, she feels it travel through his arm and into her face, and she lets him in.

He stands sopping wet at her front door. Hayate laps at the puddles forming underneath his second master’s feet, catching the water as it drips or rolls down. His tail wags sedately, contentedly, but Riza shoos him away and swipes a hand towel off her kitchen counter, one of the pretty embroidered ones that Rebecca had given her when she moved to Central. She uses it to dab the water off her superior’s face.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he says after a time, while Riza works her way over his forehead. “I was out for a walk when it started raining.”

“You were out for a walk twenty minutes from where you live, sir?”

He furrows his brows at her. She continues down to his eyes, his nose and cheeks.

“Forgive me for being concerned.”

Concern will get us into a worse situation than this one, Riza thinks. At least a piece of each of them has been found out, stripped bare and laid at the homunculi’s feet, ripe for exploiting. That in itself makes the hairs at the back of her neck stand, makes goosebumps erupt on her skin. She thinks of Selim Bradley coiling around her throat like a snake, she imagines him doing the same to Roy, and she grips the cuff of his jacket sleeve between her fingers.

“You are forgiven,” she says, a bit breathless, mostly in a whisper. She has reached his mouth with her towel and he steals her wrist in his hand, and captures her breath with his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 24th, 2018 (i uuuhhhhh took liberties w this one)


	13. sighs heavily for 1,000 years bc i humor Rhi too much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gomboc123 asked: 3 sentence prompt: Riza finds out Roy's ACTUAL legal name is Ron Mustard

“Sir?”

“Hm?”

He’d been rummaging through paperwork all morning, not bothering to truly read any. His head hung low over a document now, his eyelashes fluttering. He was dozing off.

“You received a letter from a miss Vanessa,” Riza goes on, ignoring his attempt at a mid-afternoon snooze. “Although something about it is curious. It’s addressed to this office but to a man named Ron Musta-”

Roy’s fists connect hard with his desktop, effectively muffling the tail end of Riza’s word. His head snaps up so fast she swears she can hear the bones there crack together. “Quiet quiet quiet quiet,” he murmurs as he all but crawls across his desk to get to her, knocking pens off its edge and scattering papers onto the floor. He grabs her by the shoulders, his eyes darting between her and the offensive name on the envelope in her hands. He tries to reach for it, but she pulls back.

“Who is this  _Ron_ , sir?” 

Roy gapes. “I don’t know,” he lies.

Riza thumbs the lip of the envelope. It tears…

“We should open it,” she says, “to be sure it isn’t threatening.”

Roy’s eyes look as though they are about to fly out of their sockets. 

“Unless,” she teases, “you make your way through that pile of paperwork. If you commit yourself to the task of reviewing every last piece of information left to you then I can’t see us having the time to go through a letter, sir.” She waits patiently for his reply, her fingers still flirting with the opening in the envelope. Roy swallows hard, audibly, and then nods. He backs away from her, keeping his eyes on hers, until he bumps into his desk. He takes a seat, realigns his desktop and the papers he had displaced, and begins his work. 

Riza takes the letter with her into the hall a while later while Roy’s attention is effectively taken by reports from the Elric brothers. She opens it and smiles. 

_“I trust that you’ll use this information wisely, Riza. Keep our boy on his toes for us, will ya?” - V ♡_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 29th, 2018


	14. Thirsty (it's me i'm thirsty)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: hi, 5- roy, riza and 3 mey and al :D if you would like

Roy was never this angry with her. He was sure he’d never been this angry with her in all the years he’s known her. It was a wild kind of anger - not the same fiery fury that he felt for the homunculi but a wicked sick that fumbled over a flame in his gut. She was going to let herself  _die_. He was more than aware that he had no claim to her life and that whatever she chose to do with it was her business but to kneel before that homunculus? She was going to throw it all away?

“It’s unacceptable,” he hissed.

“It had nothing to do with you,” she said, but she sounded unsure.

“It had everything to do with me, Lieutenant,” he said, “because my supposed death was what brought you to that point. If Lust had killed you I would have lived knowing I could have done something differently to stop that from happening.”

It had been a few hours since his heated outburst in front of the team. He could tell Riza was still dwelling on it. She had collected shame in her eyes. Something in him, something raw, wanted to wipe it away and protect her from what he’d made her feel. But she was his adjutant and it was his job to keep her safe, so he needed to say what he was saying. He needed to be angry with her.

“You could have done things differently, sir,” she bit back. She’d kept her eyes on the floor until now. Her gaze cut through him like a sword. “You could have taken me with you instead of Havoc,” she started, and the image of Lust’s claw-like fingers jutting out through Riza’s chest flashed over his eyes like a bolt of lighting. “Havoc doesn’t have things to atone for like we do. Havoc wouldn’t have faltered, sir, so leaving him with Alphonse would have been…better,” she finished. Roy could hear her frustration in every word. He got out of his bed and crossed the room to her, where she was standing at attention against the wall, her hands folded neatly behind her back. She didn’t move as he did.

“Take it back,” he said, his voice taught.

“Take what back, sir?”

He wasn’t quite sure. Somehow, the thought that she could be lying in a hospital bed with a spinal cord injury instead of Havoc riled him more than knowing she had been willing to throw her life away. He didn’t stop what happened to Havoc, but he intervened and saved his Lieutenant Hawkeye. She was safe and in one piece in front of him, her eyes holding in the weight of his world, and if she’d been in Havoc’s place then he would have had no chance. It would have been her skin he seared in that room, and her blood filling the gaps in the floor.

“I just can’t seem to stop pissing you off tonight, can I, sir?” she said.

“You can’t,” he said, and he didn’t have a choice. He closed the gap between them before he could think better of it, and he felt that anger still crackling like singed logs in his gut, but he had to touch her. He wrapped one of his hands around her jaw, his other tugged at her by the waist of her slacks. She whipped her hands out to steady herself against his chest. She opened her mouth to warn him against what he was about to do, but he cut her off by pressing his lips roughly to hers.

The anger turned to a kind of feverish need almost immediately. The hand gripping the fabric on her waist traveled to a spot under her jacket, and in one swift movement he managed to tug her shirt out from the hem of her slacks. She broke off when she felt his hand explore the soft skin stretched over her ribs, and before she could say anything he caught her mouth in his again.

“You could have died,” he said, and pulled a little on the hair coming undone from her clip at the nape of her neck. He placed a kiss on her jaw, right at the spot where it juts upward to meet her ear. “If you were in Havoc’s position, Hawkeye, then you would have been skewered. No one wins in either situation, and both piss me off.”

He pushed her into the wall then, gently but feeling like an eager boy who hadn’t ever touched a woman in his life. He pressed himself into her, and she gasped in his ear.

“Colonel,” she said, and it was weak, more like a whimper, and he had to force some primal part of him to the back of his mind to keep from tossing her onto his bed. “This is illegal, Colonel,” she told him seconds later, all of the pleasure suddenly gone from her voice. He picked his head up from where he was trailing kisses along her throat and looked into her amber eyes. His bandaged hand was still pressed into the untouched flesh on her abdomen.

He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, fanned out his itchy hospital slacks. Riza stayed where she was on the wall, her hands still suspended in air where she’d had his shirt tangled in them moments ago. She looked like she was in shock until she finally smoothed her jacket, and hid the end of her shirt in her slacks again. She moved her bangs from her face and said, “That was unacceptable, sir.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. She sounded as though she were the angry one now, but he didn’t care. His anger had fizzed away as he’d kissed her, and reminded himself over and over that she was whole, her heart was beating, her legs were working. He smiled.

“What are you going to do about it, Lieutenant?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jan. 11th, 2018


	15. Trope Trope Trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blueemberfire asked: So I heard you want a make-out prompt for our King and Queen... How about Team Mustang is on a mission to bring in a criminal. Roy and Riza are tailing them but their cover is about to be blown if they don't do something quick.

How Riza Hawkeye found herself pooling at the colonel’s feet is quite beyond her.

He’d let the whole of the thing spiral out of control. His hand at the small of her back kept pushing her ever closer, moving her chest into his and she’ll let him know later that she heard that soft moan of his. It vibrated against her lips and she shivered.

His other hand was wild. It traced the hem of her dress from the curve of her hips to the spot on her ribs just below her breast. He thumbed along her bra line there. Then, when he wanted to kiss her deeper, he moved his hand behind her neck, and for some reason beyond her she tilted her head and gave him the access he desired.

They kissed like that; deep and messy until they heard their targets’ footsteps echo away from them. It was a great excuse, Riza thought. If questioned later about why they emerged from the alley looking ruffled and thoroughly pleased with themselves they could claim it was part of the operation. Yes, this was a good way to relieve some of the…tension that seemed to build between them from time to time.

But knowing well enough that the enemy’s suspicions have most likely been successfully squashed, Riza reluctantly pulled back, ever the most rational of the two of them, her lips tingling.

“I think it’s safe to say we’re safe, sir,” she panted into his ear. She didn’t mean to sound so winded.

“Who cares?” he hummed, and kissed along her jaw. She felt her knees go weak, and he pressed her against the damp alleyway wall to keep her standing.

Who cares? She certainly didn’t, not anymore, not as his rough hand ran along her thigh and his mouth found hers again, wet and warm and inviting.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, and he hissed into her ear, and she felt the heat between them, dangerous and maddening, and then she shoved him away.

“Lieutenant,” he practically whined, but he stayed as far away as she’d managed to place him.

“We need to tail them, sir,” she said, and pointed to the direction their targets had gone off in. Roy ran a hand through his hair and fanned out his slacks, obviously fighting hard to remind himself that he had a job, and that job didn’t include making out with his lieutenant until they’d completely forgotten who they were.

“Yeah, yes, a job,” he sighed.

“A job,” Riza repeated, trying to cement the importance of that statement into her mind. She moved the hair from her eyes and walked past him with all the strength of the world. She could hear his steps coming after hers, and she hoped that maybe their targets would get at least a little bit suspicious again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dec. 22nd, 2017


End file.
